


A Guilded Lilies Christmas Carol

by literatecrow



Category: Neverwinter (Video Game)
Genre: Deviates From Canon, Gen, Implied Relationships, OCs - Freeform, christmas carol au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29390967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literatecrow/pseuds/literatecrow
Summary: In December 2019 BlueWallTack and I spent some time casting our Neverwinter Guild Members as Christmas Carol characters. The project was just for fun and never really gained traction until the scene in which my warlock, Alaryk, appears to haunt Odelle - our Guildmaster and, here, our Ebenezer Scrooge with less of the miserly greed. How Alaryk dragged the weights across the floor, pulling chains from the walls of the house itself was about as dramatically grim as I play him, and I wanted to write the scene. From there the project ballooned into rewriting as much of the story as I could with our guild and the interpersonal relationships therein. It's not exactly a 1:1 translation. The plot with Tiny Tim was cut for example, and there's a new character entirely: A violinist playing on the street corner. There are reasons for just about every decision in this fic, and I can talk about it at great length.I wrote it for BlueWallTack (Odelle's player) and what I ended up with is a story about processing grief and letting yourself engage with the people around you, even - or especially - if it's awkward at first. Which is an awfully weird Christmas Present, but as BlueWallTack seems to enjoy it immensely, how can I complain?





	1. Part I – 24 December

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueWallTack (ConstableMichonne)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstableMichonne/gifts).



> This chapter is the longest by far. As the first of five chapters it accounts for about a third of the full work.

Oakenheart was dead, to begin with. Of this fact Odelle Helder was surer than anyone.

His sister, Kalliope, lamented then and again that she could not believe he was really gone, as did her parents, who adopted him as a teenager. The clerk often glanced wistfully at his desk, and occasionally turned her head as if to say something to him, and Odelle’s half-sister Ariella sometimes asked how he was, as if he were still alive. But Helder knew for certain. She had found him, after all. Her colleague, who ran the public records office at her side, her trusted confidant, one of her dearer friends even if she never said it out loud, lying dead on the floor of the archives only a year ago today.

Now it was again the morning of Christmas Eve and the clerk under Helder’s employ these long years, a sunny woman aptly named Summers, was running late. Summers was often late, usually by the grace of her natural warmth and hospitality. That naturally sunny disposition that melted even the ever-present frost of Helder’s heart. Undoubtedly, especially in keeping with the habits of the season, Aurora Summers had been diverted by some noble enterprise or another. Feeding a stray cat, or giving her mittens to somebody with colder hands, or dropping a coin in the donation box the carollers took along from one street corner to the next. When Rory did arrive, with her shining morning face and bright cheery smile she told Odelle all about her morning walk to work as she hung her coat and hat on the rack that stood to attention by the door.

“They were singing my favourite, I couldn’t help but to sing along,” She said in the general direction of Odelle’s office. Rory was in the door and talking cheerily before Helder had even had time to turn around.

“Is that so?” Odelle asked, distracted by the records that lay before her on the desk.

“I gave them a shilling,” Rory called, leaning into the doorway, and then ducking back again, “Have you put the kettle on?”

“No, not yet. I was—”

“Side-tracked?”

“Distracted…” Helder’s reply came simultaneously but under her breath. Rory hummed the carol in the other room as she filled the kettle and stoked the fire in the stove to get it to boiling.

“Bit cold in here,”

“Is it?” Helder asked into the empty hallway, “I hadn’t noticed…” She muttered under her breath. Then glanced over at the desk set facing hers that had hardly been touched in the past year (she had not the heart to move his things) knowing that he would have noticed the cold.

“There’s a young lady selling fresh bread on the corner,” Aurora entered the office, and Odelle looked up at her. Short and round and soft. Yellow dress beneath a moss green shawl that accented the green of her eyes. “I brought you a honeyed roll, for breakfast, in case you’d forgotten again,” She held out the tray, on it lay a plate with the breakfast in question with accompanying tea. Odelle took the tray, their hands brushed against each other and Odelle hurriedly put it down on her desk.

“Thank you. I had… I think… Thank you.”

“It’s all right,” Rory said with a smile, but before she returned to the work at her desk she stopped. She had tried to not look at it but had anyway. Without a word Rory put her hand on the back of Alaryk’s chair, over the cardigan he had used to wear on days such as this, still where he had left it last. Odelle did not move. Made no sound to disturb the moment. Rory gave the chair a gentle squeeze before moving on.

They worked in quiet camaraderie for about an hour and a half when a spirited cacophony of voices with the jingling of the bell on the door interrupted the easy rhythm of work. Basil and Björne had arrived, as they do about twice a year to solicit charitable donations for an orphanage on the fringes of town. Basil was a thin but energetic man, his companion larger in both breadth and height, cautious with his movements and his words, though both terribly thoughtful in action. Rory offered them something warm to drink and fished about in her pockets to find a suitable holiday donation. Rory’s hospitality gave Odelle time to do the same, and she entered the foyer prepared for the celebration that the two carried with them always. Helder kept her interactions short and efficient, wondering where the two found their energy.

Helder had little time to recover, however, as fewer than ten minutes after the donation collectors had left than did none other than her own half-sister Ariella arrive. Ariella was very spritely, and very pink, and very talkative.

“Dellie!” Came the piercing call from the front door, immediately followed by an excited gasp, and the rushed exchange of greeting as Rory stuck her head out of her office once again. The two ladies enthusiastically caught up while Odelle marshalled the will to manage a conversation. She opened her office door to find Aurora handing Ariella a steaming teacup, which Ariella took gratefully but immediately forgot to drink from.

“… And we’ve decided to – Oh! Dellie! I was just telling Rory that I was talking to Rexy and we were thinking that, instead of keeping the Christmas party this year to just the family why not invite everyone? The more the merrier, after all, don’t you think? And I love to bake for everybody, I could be in the kitchen all day.” Odelle opened her mouth but Ariella failed to notice. “I might have to be if we have everyone over… but we could have cake and pudding with the Christmas Goose, and it would be nice, you know? To have a bigger family over. Mom, and Dad, and Rexy, and we could invite the neighbours and especially the Oakenhearts, since they— well, since…. You know…” Silence, dull and dour settled into the foyer like a chill Winter wind.

“I was about to say, Ms. Starym,” Rory said, salvaging the moment as best she could, “That I would be delighted to come. It is always good to see you, and Jarix, and it’s always nice to have Kalliope’s company along with it.”

“I don’t think I’ll make it.” Odelle said.

“Oh. But Dellie…”

“Keep Christmas in your own way, Ariella, and let me keep it in mine.”

“But… you don’t keep it.”

“Let me leave it alone then,” Odelle said shortly. Then, more gently, “I’ve been busy. I would like to take the day to rest. And with the anniversary of…” Everything welled up in Odelle’s chest suddenly, and she released a sigh. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t think I’ll make it.” Odelle left quickly after that. Closing the door on Rory’s voice saying, “I’ll make the pudding, it’s the least I can do…” and let stillness settle like an old friend over the Helder & Oakenheart office. 

“Where are you when I need you?” She asked the empty space her colleague would have occupied. She could almost see the shift in his shoulders as he turned toward her voice, or the long sliver of shadow on the wall in the archives. But he was not really there. Today it was him. Tomorrow bore the sad responsibility of reminding Odelle of the death of her mother. She would rather barricade herself at home, as solitary as an oyster from today to the new year, but life engaged her otherwise. From the foyer came again the twinkling of the bell this time accompanied by a brief knock at the door. “It’s safe,” Rory’s voice came muffled through the wood, “She’s gone.” Odelle opened the door again, and the two set about their work.

At noon, as on every Christmas Eve, Odelle bid Rory farewell, the latter having holiday related business to attend to, the former eager to get home. She already had coin in her hand in anticipation for passing the corner across the street from the office window. She dropped the money in a box at the violinist’s feet and he inclined his head in a wordless half-greeting, the look on his face unseasonably concerned, and Odelle wondered if he, too, marked the absence of the late Oakenheart.

She took the walk home in grim silence, more Winter about her than cheer, and entered her cold house. She lit a fire in her bedchamber, made warm tea with a simple luncheon, and passed the afternoon buried in books, eager to escape the reality of the season and partake in some other life elsewhere. She enjoyed history, she found it useful and often applicable, the biographies of well-known figures were enjoyable in particular, but she did find herself reading fiction from time to time. Though she would never admit to taking wistful fancy in ghost stories and murder mysteries. By nightfall she had enjoyed a small dinner and locked herself in the bedroom, the better for the fireplace to warm a single room than the whole of the wide house. At some point, and she knew not at what time, Odelle Helder fell asleep.

The clock woke her, and Odelle listened to the chimes announce the hour, then counted each tolling bell all the way, steadily, up to twelve. So, it was Christmas Morning, the scheduled hour of visitation by Father Christmas, during which gifts and cheer are left beneath trees and in stockings, and the very anniversary of the loss of Odelle’s own dear mother. But today, there was no work to be had to pass the time. In few long hours Ariella would be waking to Christmas in her home with Jarix, and Aurora would be stopping by shortly after to spend the holiday with them. For a moment Odelle wondered if perhaps she could have spent Christmas with the Oakenhearts. They would, after all, understand the loss of a loved one on Christmas. But she was not sure she could face so motherly a figure as Mrs. Oakenheart as she doted on Kalliope and see, in all their expressions, how the younger brother was missed. Quietly, Odelle curled herself around a pillow. She was halfway back to sleeping when a different noise entered the dark house.

Something clanged in the cellar. Far beneath where Odelle lay frozen with not the Winter cold but with fear. The noise carried with it neither pretence of festivity nor air of celebration. It echoed not, even in the dim cavernous corners of the house. No reverberation nor bell-like vibrato to mark its eventful din. Only flat sounds, dull and sharp together, in ominous occasion. Then, as suddenly as the sounds began, they stopped. Odelle held her breath, straining to hear in the silence, rueful of the heartbeat pounding all too loud in her head. _An animal,_ she told herself, _it was only an animal of some sort in the cellar, escaping the cold._ That was something she could deal with. She would gather her wits about her and go down, let the creature out, check for points of entry, and then stoke the fire, and perhaps take something to help her sleep. Yes. That would be fine. Something to do that was not Christmas and was instead proactive to the further security of her home. Yes, she resolved, she would do it. She did not move.

She hardly breathed.

And then there was a new sound. More terrifying than the one preceding it. Footsteps across the lower floor. A scraping too, as if something iron and heavy were dragged across the floorboards. Odelle tracked the path from, not the cellar, but the front door and to the landing at the base of the stairs. A pause, as if in consideration, and within it Odelle wondered how she had not heard the door open. The footsteps ascended. Growing louder as the trespasser drew closer. She scrambled from the bed to the fireplace, took up the poker, and brandished it like a weapon at the door. It was locked. Odelle knew this. She was not certain that would be enough. A heavy, iron, _Thud!_ resounded in the hall beyond, then nothing.

Odelle stood with her poker gripped tight. Waiting.

A minute stretched like an hour in the quiet.

“Quaint,”

Odelle pivoted quickly, the tip of the poker passing as if through mist across the all too familiar face of the spectre that stood before her. She stepped back in a hurry, stammering over the half-formed words that burst from her unbidden in startled fear.

_“Oakenheart!”_ she managed.

“Ms. Helder,” he replied. The voice and figure were his, it _was_ him, but though he stood upright he looked no less dead than when she had seen him last, laid out in his coffin at the funeral. The well-tailored waistcoat he wore the most, red in life, now gleamed ghostly silver in the moonlight beneath his dark coat, which in the transparent nature of a spirit seemed to fade into the shadows, as if he were cloaked in gloom. His pale and narrow face cut hard lines in the darkness, faceted with straight nose and hollow cheeks, with eyes cast in shade. His dark hair stirred like in a wind Odelle could not feel and Odelle saw that heavy chains hung off him and he was anchored as if to the very house itself. They disappeared through the floor and the wall behind him.

“No,” She said, “It cannot be,”

“You don’t believe in me,” observed the ghost.

“I don’t,”

“What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your senses?”

“I don’t know,”

“Why do you doubt your senses?”

Odelle made as if to answer, then sighed. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, “You’re here, now, what is it you want?”

“What do I want?” He took a step toward her, the chains scraped across the floor. 

“I don’t know,” Odelle said again. “Why are you here?”

“I am here to give you a warning,” Alaryk stood straight-backed, as ever. He was a tall man in life, taller by several inches than Odelle, who herself stood with stately manner. A cloud departed from its obscurity of the moon, as though somebody had pulled aside a curtain. The light lifted to the ghost’s face, filling the spheres of his eyes, illuminating them like empty balls of frosted glass. She could not tell in what direction he looked but sensed somehow that he was watching.

“A warning of what?” Odelle’s voice trembled, slightly.

“A message.”

“What sort of message needs a warning, such as yourself?”

“Such as…”

“You come to me, wearing a friend’s face. For what purpose? To make me listen? To make me believe? Who are you?”

“I _was_ your colleague, Alaryk Oakenheart, now dead this past year. Perhaps, I’d like to think, even your friend,” The ghost’s face grew drawn, with concern. “Did you not think of me as such?”

“I thought of him as such, yes.” The faltering of the spirit made Odelle braver against him. “But I cannot tell that you are really who you say you are. You could be appearing in a shape I would trust, to lead me astray.” The spectre stood, stunned, for a moment. Then laughed, a dry fire-crackle sound that quickly gave to coughing. He clutched his chest as he did. Odelle stepped toward him, dropping the poker to the floor, worry taking over, “Alaryk? Are you all right?” The question, with his circumstance, did not help with the laughter which in turn worsened the cough.

“Only you would have the stubbornness to accuse a _ghost_ of identity theft!”

“What just happened? And why are you chained?”

“And, by the way, I am _dead!_ I could not be any worse now than I was yesterday!” The ghost of Alaryk said, the cough dying in his throat. “Why are you suddenly concerned now?” The question stopped Odelle.

“Because I see it now.” She said, “You are him. You cannot even laugh without bringing misery upon yourself.” The ghost grinned.

“Yes… and there, you’ve answered your own question.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The chain,” He held it up for her to see. “Is its pattern strange to you?”

“I do not understand.”

“People are meant to enjoy life, Ms. Helder. Allow ourselves small pleasures. I did not. You remember. I rejected joy, out of habit, mostly, but when happiness came to me, I did not take it. Those that refuse to partake in the happiness they are given in life, must witness what they are no longer permitted to share in death. In yearning for that which now cannot be accepted, but what could have been accepted once. I carry my own misery with me always.”

“That seems….”

“Wretched? Yes.” He said, “You wear such a chain yourself; you know? I can see it. Though you may yet escape this fate if you learn to let the light in. If no other time than on Christmas.”

“I see nothing to be celebrated this day,”

“Precisely.” 

“So… if that is the warning, what is the message?”

“That is not the warning, that is the explanation, the warning is this: Tonight, you will be visited by three spirits, the purpose of which being to try to open your heart to celebration.”

“Your warning is late; I’ve already had the first.”

“No.” Alaryk replied, “Three more after me,”

“I would rather not.”

“Regardless,” Alaryk said, his eyes bore down on her, like chips of grey ice, not at all their usual color. “Expect the first ghost when the bell tolls one.”

“And what about you? Where will you go?” The ghost stood in silent thought.

“In a few hours, my sister will wake. I should like to watch over her Christmas morning. Perhaps she will feel I am there and be comforted.”

“You won’t stay with me?”

“I cannot.” With that he stepped back.

“No! Please,” She reached for him, “Alaryk, please! Don’t leave! Tell me more. That cannot be all!” With every step she took toward him he stepped back again, staying just out of her reach.

“When the bell tolls one.” Oakenheart stated.

“Alaryk!” Her hands met with the wall, and he was gone. “Don’t—!”


	2. Part II – 25 December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: major character death

Odelle sat motionless against the wall where Alaryk had vanished. Before long, the clock began to chime. _Ding-dong, ding-dong._ Fifteen minutes past midnight. Sniffling, she brushed the tears from her face and stayed put.

_Ding-dong, ding-dong._ Half-past midnight. By now, forced by the cold, Odelle was sitting in the chair by the fire. The ghost of Alaryk had not, after all, been so bad, Odelle reasoned. She could manage three more. Could she not? How much worse could they possibly be? And they brought a message. Not danger.

_Ding-dong, ding-dong._ Fifteen minutes ‘til. She realized she had met the ghost of her former colleague in her dressing gown and resolved to get up and put on some presentable clothes. She chose a blue waistcoat, to go with the blue skirt she often wore to work and being dressed she felt a little better and a little more capable. Unless it had been some horrible dream. It could have been that. In which case she would feel a bit silly when upon the hour nothing happened.

_Ding-dong, ding-dong._ The chimes rang the final quarter, and just in case she might have need of it, Odelle put on her coat and took hold of the iron poker once again. When the bell struck the single, doleful _One._ a brilliantly dazzling light flooded the room. From every window, bright as the sun, and pure white. Odelle gazed out into it, squinting. Then it vanished, leaving the far too-early sunrise behind like an afterimage. It could not be dawn. Not already, surely, the clock had only struck one.

“Standing behind you,” announced another familiar voice behind her. Odelle turned to find someone wholly unexpected. Kalliope Oakenheart, but appearing as some sort of devil or imp. The face was of familiar shape and proportion, but for the two horns that sprouted from her forehead and around her crown to reach up. Her usually hazel eyes were liquid gold, her skin red, her long brown hair hung past her waist in a braid. Instead of a dress she wore breeches, and a waistcoat and jacket, like her brother but done up in fir greens, and lily whites, and berry reds. Patterns of holly and ivy were worked into the brocade and she was adorned with golden jingle-bells, which twinkled so very softly Odelle could barely hear them.

“Kalliope?”

“Yes?”

“You’re the spirit I was warned of?”

“I am,” When Kalliope smiled Odelle could see her teeth were slightly pointed.

“But, you’re not dead… and… why do you look like that?”

“I am a spirit of Christmases Past,” Kalliope said, “You recognize me, right?”

“A bit— but,”

“What are the holidays without a bit of mischief?” She winked.

“But why you?”

“Does it matter?”

“…I suppose not,”

“Come on, take my hand, then.” Kalliope reached to Odelle and when she took the hand proffered to her, she found she was suddenly not standing in her bedroom, but rather at the steps of a great, familiar, library. She gasped. “You know this place?”

“Know it?” Odelle asked, “I spent every moment I could here. To get away…” Suddenly they were standing inside. At a low table sat a little girl, diligently copying letters into a notebook. She had been left more or less alone, and Helder could see the librarian flitting occasionally from desk to aisle and back again. An hour passed, and the child-Odelle switched eventually from letters to mathematics. And then from that to a history book.

“You… seem so lonely,” said Kalliope.

“I didn’t have many friends.” Just then the door opened, not to a client but to Odelle’s father, as he came sweeping into the room, to crouch beside Odelle in her chair. “This was the year mother died.” Helder said as the child began to cry in her father’s arms. “I spent as often as I could here after. Studying, reading, anything to make Mrs. Starym proud of me. To make it feel like Father’s infidelity was worth it.” The light shifted as she spoke, and the little Odelle child grew year by year until she was a young woman. As luck would have it her first job interview took place here, too, for the position of secretary. Her predecessor to the occupation had moved rather suddenly, and so Ms. Helder was interviewed on Christmas Eve morning so the vacancy could be filled before the New Year.

“Looks like there is something you could celebrate this day.” The Impish Kalliope Spirit gestured. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Odelle sighed, “It’s not as if my mother is not still dead.” 

“Another Christmas, then,” the imp said. The vision of Odelle settled into the desk and worked diligently for a couple years. The foot traffic of the library flickering past very quickly in tides and eddies of whims and fancy. Suddenly the motion stopped on a quiet, empty evening. The door burst open, and yet another familiar individual spilled into the room like a drop of golden sun. 

“Odelle!” Rory’s voice called, “Odelle, guess what!”

“I- Rory? Ms. Summers! What is it?”

“I’ve found you a job!”

Odelle gestured to the library, “I already have a job.”

“This one is even better suited for you!” Rory chirped, “I’ve been a clerk there for ages now, and the office had just hired somebody a few months ago when Mr. Pierce died, but now Mr. Grey has died too, and they’re looking for someone to –” Rory’s excitement was interrupted by the opening of the door again, and a tall figure stepped into the library with the cold. “Ah, yes!” Rory said, “Odelle, meet Mr. Oakenheart, he’s Mr. Pierce’s replacement, Alaryk, this is Odelle Helder, the friend I was saying about this morning.” Alaryk held his hand out to Odelle, and she took it, and the rest of the conversation fell back into place in Odelle’s memory. Work at the public records office was much the same as that of the Library but it would pay better, and the office was closer to home. Alaryk had no interest running the office despite his seniority to the position by a few months. Helder, on the other hand, had been employed in an administrative position longer than Oakenheart had, and Aurora felt that it was exactly the sort of fit Odelle might need.

“Oh,” Helder said, “How could I have forgotten? I met him on Christmas Eve.”

“My brother had an awful talent for unintended irony,” Commented the impish spirit. The library melted away like ice, revealing another building beneath. Odelle recognized it instantly – of course she did.

“I remember this,” Helder said, “This is Ariella’s first Christmas Party,”

“Yes, we were all here, I remember too,” Ariella had invited half the city in her enthusiasm. The inn was just finished that summer. Kalliope brought Alaryk and Odelle drinks and hovered at his shoulder as introductions were made, taking whatever opportunity she could to tease him, until Mr. and Mrs. Oakenheart came bustling into the room together. Ajax, standing at a full seven feet, towered over even Alaryk, but unlike his adopted son, he carried a jovial air as if he were intent on playing the part of St. Nicholas himself. The two greeted their children and Kellina took special consideration to Alaryk, straightening his collar, for probably the fifth time that evening. Odelle could not help but smile at the look on his face. As the parents spoke to Odelle, Kalliope pinned a sprig of mistletoe to her brother’s jacket. “He at least always humoured me.” The spirit said. “I wish he could have allowed himself to relax and be happy.”

“I wish that too.” Odelle said, suddenly melancholy on his behalf, and wondered again, as she did before, what brought somebody like Alaryk to a Christmas Party in the first place.

“He missed his chance,” Said Kalliope. Odelle thought about the chains, and the imp continued as if she could hear Odelle’s thoughts, “He did not want the same to befall you.”

Odelle watched her former self refuse a dance with first Ariella, then Rory. The human Kalliope of this Christmas past, dressed in an ivy green, danced with many, even managing to coerce her brother onto the floor for a turn. The dance floor was full of happy couples otherwise. When the music stopped for a break Ariella handed candy canes out to her guests, and Odelle watched as Alaryk considered his, seemed to steel himself, and approached the musicians to hand his candy to somebody strangely familiar. Too pale skin matching equally pale hair, he looked like a ghost himself and Odelle remembered dropping a couple coins into the box at his feet.

“Oh- I know him!” Odelle exclaimed.

“Yes, you do. He began practicing for his concerts outside your office after this very night,”

“Do they know each other?” 

“They’ve run into each other in a few odd places. This is not their first meeting.”

“No, obviously not.” Odelle watched as Oakenheart and the violinist shared a short conversation. Alaryk even smiled. “He never pursued.” She knew it as a statement of fact.

“He did not,”

“Why?” Kalliope directed Odelle’s attention to her former self, speaking nervously with Rory.

“Why didn’t you?” That stopped her. She had no good answer that the imp would be pleased with. Only that she would not have believed herself to be a good match for Rory. Rory deserved someone happier. Someone to match the sunlight, rather than need to be warmed by it. She decided to change the subject. Back to the matter at hand.

“Did he ever try?”

“Try to… do what?”

“Find happiness,” Odelle clarified. “Did he ever strive to what he demands of me?”

“Yes, he did,”

“Did it work?”

“No.”

“Show me,” Odelle said.

“I don’t want to,”

“Why not?”

The imp faltered. “Because it isn’t good.” She said at last, “Because it isn’t constructive to the message.”

“Show me,” Odelle Helder said again.

Then they were standing in the office. It was cold and blue with the pre-dawn light from the window. Odelle checked the clock, ticking dutifully in the foyer. Half past Seven in the morning, thirty full minutes before the office opened. A shadow appeared at the door, which soon opened with the gentle jingling of the bell. Alaryk Oakenheart entered. Odelle realized all at once which Christmas Eve this was but was stuck watching. Alaryk leant his cane against the doorframe, put his hat on the stand, and set a box down on the chair nearby to remove his coat. That being done, he lit the fire and retrieved the box to move on into the shared office. Odelle followed, as if she were the shade haunting the still-living. She caught sight of the box as he stored it in the top right-hand drawer of his desk.

“Did you ever go through his things?” asked the spirit.

“No, I didn’t,”

“I wonder if they’re still any good,”

“I never noticed he liked candy canes,”

“He doesn’t. He was going to hand them out to you and Rory. Possibly to whoever else came in to claim them.”

Odelle watched her friend go about his business. He had never shaken the cough that followed him for the weeks prior. It had stuck in his throat no matter what he did, growing thicker and thicker. If she had been earlier to work that morning, he would not have had to die alone. At the very least. Even now, knowing the outcome she could not follow him into the archives for the last time. Did not want to witness the moment. The clock struck Eight just as Odelle entered, and Helder watched her former self discover him.

“He died for it.” Odelle said.

“Don’t give up,” Said a different voice, “Please?”


	3. Part III – 25 December

Odelle looked up. Standing in the doorway was Rory. Dressed all in red with white trim and leaves of holly embroidered on her sleeves and collar and the hem of her dress. She wore a short cape of white fur, which seemed to glow against her dark skin. She was looking directly at Odelle.

“Rory?”

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,” Rory said.

“I’m beginning to see a pattern.”

The spirit held out her hand, “Come on, please? Let’s leave this sad memory behind.” Odelle looked down at her former self, kneeling by her friend in too still a peace to be Alaryk truly. She wanted to ask what the point would be, of leaving the memory behind. It still haunted her. It would make it no less real.

“Where are we going?”

“To Christmas morning,” Rory said, and held her hand out for Odelle to take. When she did Odelle Helder found herself at the home of her sister.

“What is this?” Helder asked.

“This is what is happening now. A happy Christmas morning.

Odelle watched Jarix, a naturally early-riser, wake Ariella with a gentle kiss to her temple. He handed her a small gift wrapped in brown paper. A whistle he had carved himself. She laughed at the sound it made, like singing birds, and gave him a gift of his own. A glass snowflake, which he hung in the window to break the light into specks of every colour that danced across the bedsheets and on the walls. In an instant they were downstairs, as Ariella prepared breakfast and Jarix went about his morning routine. He opened the door when Rory knocked, carrying the promised pudding, and later the neighbours arrived. They all exchanged gifts, and had a snowball fight in the yard, Jarix throwing children into snowbanks whenever the chance arose, only for them to come running up to him again. Odelle realized that her sister and fiancé had become like a beloved aunt and uncle to these children.

“See?” The spirit said, “There’s happiness today. If no other day. It’s at the very least an excuse to relax and be merry,”

“It’s hard. That’s all,” Said Odelle, “My mother died this morning years ago. I cannot think of Christmas without thinking of her. And the weight it is crushing and—why am I telling you this?”

“You are never this candid about your feelings,” the spirit observed.

“It doesn’t matter – it changes nothing.”

“Very well,” Rory said, resolutely, “We shall go somewhere else then,”

Odelle found herself standing now in front of a different house in the mid-afternoon. When she looked through the window, she saw Ajax and Kellina Oakenheart in their parlour, sitting beside a bright tree, a pile of presents spilling from under it. Kellina sang along as Ajax played the piano. Kalliope, she found, was in another room. She had a hand over her mouth and was trying not to cry. Her eyes bright and wet with tears in the light. She set a glass of mulled wine down next to a lonely candle on a windowsill, then placed a sprig of mistletoe beside it. “Merry Christmas, Alaryk.” She was smiling when she said it, but the tears spilled down her cheeks, nonetheless.

“Kalliope understands,” Odelle said.

“No,” the spirit replied, “She doesn’t,”

“She knows what it’s like to lose—” Helder sighed, “She lost her _brother.”_

“But she smiled when she remembered him. She still enjoys the day, best she can, even with him gone, even knowing that if he were still here, he’d be… Well, you remember him,”

Odelle could not help but laugh at that. “He’d have been a bastard about it,” The spirit laughed too.

“He would, wouldn’t he?”

They laughed together, and as they did so, Kalliope returned to the parlour, brushing away tears. Kellina smiled sadly at her and brushed a thumb across her daughter’s cheek. Ajax wrapped her up in an embrace that lifted her off the floor. They exchanged gifts, laughed, danced, and sang together. They also cried and smiled more. Pulling more closely together despite the loss.

“See?” the spirit asked, “They still enjoy life. Take the happiness when they get it. You could do the same.”

“And if I don’t, I’m chained by the sadness forever, in death as in life.”

The spirit in Rory’s shape gave her a sad look, and she could read the confirmation there even if the spirit did not want to say.

“Why couldn’t he be saved?” Odelle demanded.

“I don’t have the answer. I’m just a piece of the message.”

“Maybe I deserve it,”

“What?”

“Maybe I should linger, same as him, at least we wouldn’t be- Never mind.” The spirit sighed.

“There’s one more.” When Odelle turned, the spirit was already gone.

“I’m sorry,” She said into the night air.


	4. Part IV – 25 December

Odelle waited. She was still standing on the street in front of the Oakenheart Manor. Around her the sky grew dark and dim, and the paint on the buildings began to flake. Some changed colour entirely. The road cracked in a few places from the frost. It seemed as if the world aged all at once around her. She looked around.

She saw the spirit, standing in the middle of the dimly lit street, staring at her. The sight sent a shiver down her spine. Their face was neither male nor female. Neither old nor young. With bone-white hair and skin, thin nose, thin lips, the eyes blank spheres the colour of milk, the skin around their eyes darkened, like purple-black bruising. They were dressed in white clothes, too. Looking a proper horror-story ghost. Their outfit a mix of male and female styles.

“Hello,” Odelle said, “You must be the third?”

The spirit tipped their hat, in greeting.

“Will you not speak?”

The spirit stared.

“You must be the Ghost of Christmas Future.”

The spirit nodded once.

“I understand.” Odelle said. “Take me where I need to go, then.”

The spirit pointed at the house. Through the windowsill Kalliope danced to carols with who looked to be her suitor, a tall woman with hair the colour of spun gold in the candlelight, alongside her parents. Life had continued for them, and they found new ways to find joy during the season.

“The point you are making seems to be the same one as the last. That happiness continues, even when someone is lost.” Odelle looked to the spirit and found that their face was different. It appeared to be her father, looking older, his clothes were all white. They put a hand on her shoulder and walked her down the street. As they walked Odelle looked around, at children she did not recognize as they threw snowballs at each other, wearing new scarves and mittens. She glanced at the ghost, from time to time, their face looked different each time. People she knew, always, looking older by some years. There was Ariella’s mother Leshanna, Jarix, Basil and Björne right after one another, Rory, and Kalliope, among others.

Before too long they made it to Ariella’s inn. Nobody was playing in the snow just yet, as they preferred to have their Christmas Dinner at this time instead. When Odelle looked into the window, she saw Ariella and Jarix, now happily married, with faithful dog at their side, and a young daughter. The child took after both of them equally. She had Jarix’s slightly darker complexion, and the Starym-Blue eyes of her mother, with black hair that matched both parents. She was playing with a new toy, undoubtedly a gift she had unwrapped that morning.

“I understand, now.” Odelle told the ghost. “I get it. I want to be there. I want to have Christmas with a family, while I still have the chance. I want to hold my niece, and have Christmas dinner, and have a snowball fight in the front yard.”

She looked at the ghost, now looking like her own niece might as a teenager.

“I understand why Alaryk sent you.” She gazed back through the window. “I will take my happiness where I can. Not just on Christmas.

Odelle looked back at the ghost. They were wearing the face of the violinist that practiced on the corner. Still dressed, as he almost always was anyway, in white. She opened her mouth to ask why but he spoke first, “Are you okay…?


	5. Part V – 24 December

The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come was speaking to her. Odelle blinked. First surprised, then stunned, then confused. “I—yes, I… I’m sorry, what?”

“You were sleepwalking… I think.” Said the violinist. “You look a bit dazed.”

“I- oh,” Odelle looked around at the street, the ghost was not a ghost after all. The sun was rising gently painting the sky with light blues and lighter oranges, “I’m sorry,”

“You’re dressed for it, though. Well done there, I guess.” The violinist continued, then he gestured up the street, “Looks like your coworker has beaten you to it, by the way.” Odelle looked up to find she stood a half block away from the office. Someone had just entered, and she saw the door shut.

“What day is it?”

“Pardon?”

“What’s today?”

“It’s… Christmas Eve?” The violinist gave her a disconcerted look, “How about you go inside. I think this conversation has just become strange enough,”

“Oh, I see why he likes you.” Odelle said under her breath, and the violinist’s confusion grew visibly deeper. “Never mind,” she said, her feet already taking her forward toward the building’s door, “Thank you!” she managed to remember to call back at the musician, at the last moment, moving too quickly already to worry about the fact that it should have been Christmas Day.

She opened the door, and when she did so she heard from her office the sharp sound of a desk drawer slamming shut. Somebody was here, but it was not Rory. She approached the office door, and as she did so it swung open much too quickly, and she nearly collided with Alaryk.

“Oh, goodness!” She exclaimed and made to put her hand on his shoulder before remembering herself.

“What are you doing here so early?” He asked.

“Alaryk…?”

“I-” He stopped himself, “Ms. Helder, are you all right?”

“I should ask you,”

“Me? Why?” Odelle opened her mouth and closed it again. She was not sure what she thought she was going to tell him. Here he was, alive, and she was going to tell him that his cough killed him on Christmas Eve. She could not be a year in the past. But at the same time, he could not be here. “You’re acting strange.”

“No, it’s nothing,”

“’It doesn’t matter,’ of course.” He moved past her, setting the kettle on the woodstove.

“That actually isn’t what I was going to say,”

“Then what?”

“I’m not- it’s only… I thought you were very ill?”

“I had a cold last week, that’s why I was gone.” He commented on it so casually, Odelle feared she was going mad. “Can’t rid myself of this infernal cough, though. That’s all, I am not on my death bed, you know.” he stirred honey into his tea as he said it, then walked off to get to work at his desk. He hated honey in his tea, and he hated herbal remedies even more, preferring a black blend. Odelle could not help but laugh at him a little. “Are you teasing me?” he asked from the other room.

“No!” Odelle said quickly, then, “Maybe a little.” He sighed from the next room.

“Very well. If you’re here early as well, we may as well get to work.”

“I thought I was senior officer,” Odelle said as she walked in and took her chair, across from him. They gathered reports and sorted tasks, and when the violinist began to play across the street Alaryk stopped what he was doing and gazed out the window, chin resting in his hand.

“You know him?” Odelle asked as casually as she could manage.

“Yes.”

“What’s his name?”

“Cassius.”

“Cassius… like-”

“Yes. Like the Roman Senator who helped plot against Julius.”

“He gets better and better,” Odelle said. It was meant to tease but it only seemed to unnerve Alaryk. He was about to ask her to clarify when there was commotion from the foyer as Rory bustled in, late, as ever, from the cold Christmas Eve morning. “Sorry I’m late! They were singing my favourite, I couldn’t help but to sing along,” She said.

“Is that so?” Alaryk said.

“I gave them a shilling. Good morning, Alaryk, you’re early! Good morning Odelle!” Rory called, leaning into the doorway, and then ducking back again, “Have you put the kettle on?”

“Yes,” Alaryk and Odelle said together.

Rory hummed the carol in the other room as she made more tea. “There’s a young lady selling fresh bread on the corner,” She entered the office, and Odelle and Alaryk looked up at her. “I brought you a honeyed roll, for breakfast, in case you’d forgotten again,” She held out the tray. Alaryk hesitated.

“You have candy canes in your desk, don’t you?” Odelle asked before she could stop herself. Alaryk gave her a strange look and opened the desk drawer to hand a cane to Rory in exchange for breakfast.

“Oh!” Rory said, “Thank you!” Her smile, like sunlight, filled the room. Without a word Alaryk set a candy cane on Odelle’s plate, too, but he continued to stare at her with a mix of curiosity and unsettled concern.

He handed one to Basil and Björne too, when they arrived, along with his usual donation, at Odelle’s insistence, and then Ariella arrived.

Odelle observed the scene with an uneasy sense of déjà vu. She glanced at Alaryk, as if he might vanish at any moment, and then entered the foyer before she lost her nerve.

“… And we’ve decided to – Oh! Dellie! I was just telling Rory that I was talking to Rexy and we were thinking that, instead of keeping the Christmas party this year to just the family why not invite everyone? The more the merrier, after all, don’t you think? It would be nice to have a bigger family over. Mom, and Dad, and Rexy, and we could invite the neighbours and the Oakenhearts. Just like the first party we hosted. Do you remember? It would be fun!”

“Yes, it would,” Odelle said, her smile widening at the annoyed sound from her colleague behind her. Which gave her an idea. She rushed into the office.

“Dellie?” Ariella followed. Odelle grabbed a sheet of paper from the stack on her desk and wrote as quickly as she could get away with. “Are you all right?”

“Just a moment,” Odelle said.

“Dell-” In another sudden burst of movement she crossed the room and opened the drawer of Alaryk’s desk, despite his protesting, and went outside, in the cold, without her coat.

“What is she doing?” Ariella asked.

“By God, she’s lost her mind,”

“Odelle?” Rory called after her from the door, then elected to wait for her on the steps so she would not let the heat out of the little office. The violin stopped as Odelle approached and something like dread crossed the musician’s face.

“Cassius, right?”

“Ah— yes?”

“Here,” Odelle said, shoving the paper toward him, “I’m inviting you to my sister’s Christmas Party. It’s tomorrow. At the inn. There are details here. But I want to invite you as a guest, not as any entertainment she might hire.” 

“Why?”

“Does it—” She stopped herself. It did matter. She decided to approach from a different angle and jabbed a thumb back at the office window. “He’ll be there.” Confusion turned to cautious consideration on Cassius’ face. “Oh!” Odelle’s exclamation made him jump slightly, and she held the candy out for him to take, “Speaking of, this if from him. I’ll make sure he’s there. Just... Please?”

“I suppose it would be rude to…”

“Great!” Odelle said, the awkwardness of what had just happened began to sink in, and she was ready to retreat. She definitely needed practice, though she was not going to try to play matchmaker again soon. She walked back to the office. Rory could not decide whether to laugh or worry and settled with pressing a hand to Odelle’s face to check her temperature.

“You’re coming to the party!” Odelle told Alaryk, who was by now standing in the front room.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.” Odelle said shortly, “Besides, your violinist friend will be there too, I just promised-”

“Why would you-”

“So, it would be rude of you not to turn up.”

Ariella burst into excited noise and motion, and she left quickly, to extend her invitation to the rest of the Oakenhearts and whoever else might attend.

“You’ve lost your mind,” Alaryk said flatly.

“Perhaps.” Odelle said. “But perhaps it was good for me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus; we have a happy ending!   
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
